Looks Are Only Looks
by Drop Your Oboe
Summary: Elphaba and Galinda find themselves involved in a debate over opinions and appearances, with surprising conclusions. -bookverse oneshot-


_Ninety-two, ninety-three, ninety-four, ninety-five._ Galinda lays down her hairbrush and reaches for a ribbon. As she turns, she catches sight of herself in the reflection of the window: a wisp of hair has pulled astray. She sighs and unties the ribbon. Looking in the window this time, she finds Elphaba watching her, a smile of amusement on her face. "What?" asks Galinda.

"Nothing," says Elphaba, quickly, looking back down.

"No, truly, Miss Elphaba." Galinda turns all the way around, tying the ribbon into a bow. "What?"

"You apply so much attention to detail," says Elphaba reluctantly, choosing her words carefully and not looking up. "Even with something as simple as pulling your hair back. You even chose a ribbon that matches your nightgown," she adds, wryly, looking at Galinda.

Galinda is surprised, not so much at her own actions but at the fact that the green girl has noticed. "Well," she defends herself, "it's pretty, when it matches."

"It's also interesting that you should care about such a detail when there's nobody to see you."

"But Miss Elphaba," says Galinda, "that's not the point, that no one can see me. The point is that I've done it. Besides," she adds before she thinks, "you can see me."

Elphaba, for a moment, looks shocked. Just as quickly, she recovers herself and cocks her head to one side, a puzzled expression on her face. "Miss Galinda," she says quietly, "does _my_ opinion of you matter that much?"

"Of course, Miss Elphaba," Galinda tells her, surprised. She continues. "I would prefer that your opinion of me be a positive one-" Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Elphaba blink. "And I intend to keep it as such."

The green girl looks back down to her book. She shoves her hair back out of her face, that beautiful hair she never seems to do anything with, and shrugs. "The scope of my opinions of people extends to things other than hair ribbons," she says quietly, "especially, but not limited to, my opinion of you, Miss Galinda."

"Does it really?" It is not a comment Galinda has ever heard before, neither about herself nor on its own, and it intrigues her.

Elphaba shrugs, which Galinda takes as a 'yes,' and looks back down to her book. "You and my sister," she says, with the air of one already preoccupied, "both love the fancy outsides of things, Miss Galinda, they way they look. Nessarose and I have had this conversation before. I don't wear pretty things." She intends the statement as a conclusion to the conversation.

Galinda sighs: an Elphaba maxim. Someday, she thinks, I'll have to put them all in a book. "Yes," she says, determined for once not to be put off by her roomie's rather uncaring manner, "and why ever not?"

Elphaba looks up. "I've said it before, Miss Galinda. Looks are only looks."

"Yes I _know_," says Galinda, "but what about what isn't looks? Or aren't?" she corrects herself.

Elphaba looks up suddenly, seeming almost to come alive. Galinda gets the feeling that if she touches the green girl just now, she'll be shocked as if she had touched a doorknob in winter. Elphaba seems excited; or perhaps challenging, Galinda thinks, is a better word. "Yes," says Elphaba, "what about that?"

"Well- ah. I see." Galinda's mind has caught up with her. "Your opinions that extend past hair ribbons."

Elphaba lifts her head: not really a nod, but still acknowledgement. "But you were saying?"

Galinda is silent. After a moment, she sighs and props her elbow on the windowsill, leaning her head into her hand. "I think I begin to see where you misunderstand me, Miss Elphaba," she says. "Your opinions- they rule out looks entirely, and instead aim directly for the soul- oh all right, the character, the thoughts," she says hurriedly as Elphaba sits up, almost affronted. "But _my_- character," she says, catching herself, "it's almost based on looks, I think. The way _you_ think, you are affected only by the emotion that drives you." She pauses, and Elphaba nods. "But the way I feel _depends_ on how I look. It makes you feel better to know that you're doing the right thing; it makes me feel better to have coordinating hair ribbons," she finishes.

Elphaba is fascinated. She twirls her hair through her fingers. "The mind," she says softly, "dependent on society. Yes, Miss Galinda," she says, louder, "I think I begin to see. And Nessie-" She stops herself before she says anything about her sister, and Galinda feels as if she's in a train that has stopped suddenly, just short of its destination. She takes in a breath and stands up, turning to find her hairbrush.

"I think, Miss Galinda," says Elphaba, startling her, "that if you turned your mind to it you too could become dependent on your emotions rather than your looks. I know you could. Don't try to convince me of the opposite," she says as Galinda opens her mouth, "if I were to follow such a doctrine I would be in a perpetually dismal mood."

But Galinda has seen the things her roomie thinks she hasn't, and the things that perhaps the green girl cannot see in herself. "You discredit yourself far too much, Miss Elphaba. I should think you would be in an-" She tips her head, studying the other girl. "An inquisitive mood. Curious. Miss Elphie, you're a liar," she says suddenly, catching Elphaba off guard. "You do think that way! You think that because you look different you _must_ act differently." She catches herself, and is horrified. "Oh, Miss Elphaba, I'm sorry, I didn't think-"

"No, Miss Galinda," says Elphaba, a curious smile on her face, "you _did_. I-" She pauses, then settles down, looking almost upset. "I suppose I have to admit that you're right. But Miss Galinda, are you also saying that if I were simply to act like every other girl at this school I would be no different?"

"I do believe you might," says Galinda, "maybe. It's because _you_ perceive yourself as different- not that you aren't," she acknowledges. "But I think you perceive it negatively."

"Well I've not had much exposure to anything else," says Elphaba, wryly. "Growing up as I did? I've told you, I think."

"Miss Elphie," says Galinda softly, remembering, "that's terrible."

"But true."

"Oh Miss Elphie," says Galinda, realizing a lost cause, and turns to put her hairbrush back on the small dresser. Elphaba stirs, and as Galinda turns, she sees the green girl looking at her curiously. "What?" she asks.

"What you called me, just then. 'Miss Elphie.'"

"Oh." Galinda blushes. "I meant no disrespect-"

"No, Miss Galinda-" Elphaba shakes her head, also embarrassed. "You take my meaning incorrectly. I was just- it's fine; you may call me that if you like. It was just- surprising."

"My dear Miss Elphaba, you must get used to surprises," says Galinda, suddenly feeling philanthropic, "both mine and that surprise of yours that isn't beauty. Good night."

The green girl does not reply, and Galinda, with a smile, reaches to turn the lamp down.

"Actually, Miss Galinda -" Elphaba's voice hesitates, and in the semidarkness, Galinda turns towards her. "Yes?"

"Since it appears that we will not be changing room assignments any time soon," says Elphaba wryly, "if you'd prefer, I don't require an honorific." If it had been anyone else, Galinda would have sworn that her roomie sounded almost nervous.

Startling herself, she says, "All right. Thank you," she adds, and then, "if you'd like- neither do I." She bites her lip. "Fresh dreams, then, Elphie."

"Good night, Galinda."

What would have been once to her chagrin, but now to an agreeable, mild surprise, Galinda realizes that she and the green girl have become, of all things, friends.

_Funny, how things work out that way._

* * *

_I didn't write this as a companion story to Dreams The Way We Planned Them and Patience, Miss Galinda, but the more I think about it, the more I realize they're all pretty much alike. Either way. This was fun to write- I hope it was at least interesting to read. Was it? Reviews would be quite lovely, please, if you've got a minute._


End file.
